


promises

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Shield Agents, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Pining, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 05:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15381807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: They were sixteen and stupid and they promised to always be this to each other: best friends, stolen kisses, fumbling affection and tacit devotion.





	promises

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'unrequited love/pining' square on my Trope Bingo Round 11 Card.

Officially, Bucky is off duty at five-thirty p.m. He clocks in at seven-thirty a.m., grabs his second cup of coffee for the day, and sits down at his desk in SHIELD's engineering wing to get through paperwork for a couple hours. The rest of his day is usually spent in one of the labs especially now that he's got two ongoing projects in robotics. 

The thought of those projects pulls a sigh from Bucky's chest and he clicks from the mission reports to lab data on his desktop. He'll have to take some of this home if he wants to be home before eight tonight, he thinks, and scrubs both hands through his hair. 

That act pulls another sigh from his chest and he runs the fingers of his left hand through the length of his hair to where it reaches a few inches past his shoulder. 

It still feels weird. It still feels weird to _feel_. 

Bucky holds his hand in front of his face and flexes the fingers, listening to the near-imperceptible whir of machinery as he rotates his wrist. 

This morning, he clocked in at six a.m., was handed a top of the line sniper rifle at six-fifteen a.m., and ran point on an emergency mission he'd only been cleared for an hour before. By noon, he had his team back in D.C. and a stack of paperwork waiting for him on his desk. 

Now it's past six p.m. and Buck's tired, sore, and more than ready to ignore his desk phone when it starts ringing. He already has two dozen unanswered emails in his inbox and three calls he let go to voicemail. After the first ring, he recognizes the number as an active field agent, and after the second, his heart aches as he realizes he knows exactly who's calling. Before he can stop himself, he has the receiver in his hand and up to his face. 

"Barnes," he answers. "Also, I'm off duty, so be careful what you ask for, Rogers." 

"Hi, Buck, it's just me, it's Steve," Steve says, like he always does, like Bucky wouldn't know the sound of his voice after the first word even if he didn't know the number. "Are you busy?" 

"Just desk work... where are you? Steve?" Bucky asks when he can hear the sounds of a busy street behind Steve--cars and sirens and the roar of voices. "What do you need?" 

"I'm at work. And--nothing, I don't need anything..." Steve's voice goes a little breathless and soft, with a quiet, familiar uncertainty that Bucky can trace years back into their friendship. 

"Steve..." Bucky leans forward in his seat, as if that would let him hear Steve better, as if it would calm the stupid catch in his chest he always gets when Steve goes out on a mission without him. 

It's been months now, and Steve's been on dozens of missions without him, Bucky reminds himself. _Dozens_. And he usually comes back in one piece, even. 

"Buck?" Steve says, then gives a quick, low, little laugh. "How about I pick up dinner for the both of us tonight? Sushi? I'll get all your favorites." 

Bucky gives himself a shake and almost laughs, too, at the sound of Steve's voice. Of course Steve would call from the field to ask if Bucky wanted dinner; of course Steve knows that Fury pulled Bucky to run point on that mission this morning. 

"Sushi? Yeah... yeah, okay, but get two avocado rolls or you'll finish it before I even get a chance to grab any." Bucky feels relief and, more than that, fondness flood through his chest. "Get whatever else you feel like having. Oh, and get soup." 

"What else? You sound like you had a long day..." 

"I'm good. I'll buy beer on my way home. You want to come over to my place?" 

"If that's okay?" Steve hesitates and some of the old bashfulness creeps into his voice, making it go low and a little sweet again.

A little too sweet, what with how Bucky's heart still thrills a little at the sound of his best friend's voice. In that moment, all he wants is Steve, to know he's safe and to feel the warmth of his body, to press his lips to that space behind Steve's left ear to make Steve tip his head to the side and sigh. 

Right, so Steve's not just his best friend, but he's that before anything else and god does Bucky miss him right now. 

"Of course it's okay. Beer, sushi, whatever crap you put on my Netflix. Sounds like a Wednesday night, Steve." Bucky clicks through all his windows on his desktop, saving and closing them, and leans back in his seat. A sigh escapes his lips as he runs his hand through his hair again, and he catches the quiet, sympathetic sound Steve makes. 

"See, you sound like you need somebody to bring you dinner tonight." There's a smile in Steve's voice, the kind that always makes Bucky want to pull Steve close. But there's something else there, too, something that's not just tension or adrenaline ebbing away at the end of one of his missions. 

"Steve," Bucky says, then pauses when he can hear the rise of voices and noise behind Steve. Somebody shouts Steve's last name and Bucky knows better than to try and get Steve's attention back after that. 

"I have to finish up here, but I'll be at your place by eight, Buck. With two avocado rolls. Promise." 

"Yeah, you better go," Bucky says. "Be careful, okay?" 

"I will. For you, I'll do my best," Steve says then gives Bucky a breathless goodbye.

* * *

Just like he said he would, Steve appears at Bucky's door a couple minutes before eight o'clock with two bags from their favorite sushi restaurant. As soon as Bucky answers the door, he smiles and puts his arm around Bucky, even presses his face into Bucky's shoulder for a good few seconds after he walks into the apartment.

Rough mission, then, Bucky thinks, and holds Steve tight against his side. The clean, soapy smell of shampoo and shower gel clings to Steve's skin, the same kind he's used as far back as Bucky can remember. The scent of summer afternoons spent sprawled in the grass, his face tucked into Steve's neck, and the scent of early winter mornings spent sitting on Steve's bed, drinking coffee before getting ready for work. 

Before he can bury himself in memories, Bucky ends up letting Steve go and gives him a quick look up and down. He's dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt, with his beat up leather bomber jacket. Whatever went on during that mission left him tense and he carries all that tension in his shoulders and in the set of his jaw. Steve's a little beat up and tired, but not too worse for wear, and if he decides to stay after dinner, Bucky's pretty sure he can help him forget how rough that mission was for the rest of the night. 

He's pretty sure he could use a few hours distraction, too, followed by a night spent with Steve's body half-curled close to his. 

"Did you run debrief already?" Bucky leads Steve into the kitchen, and smiles when Steve settles a hand at the base of his spine as they walk. 

"We had a quick meeting at base today, but I'm in for another few rounds tomorrow." His hand remains on Bucky as they stop at the counter and Bucky reaches up to get plates from the cabinet. His fingers stroke a slow, fond pattern there, and when Bucky glances at him, he lowers his eyes with a soft smile. 

"At least you don't look too beat up." Bucky leans into the touch, and then into Steve, close enough that he can brush a quick kiss over his mouth. 

The smallest, softest sound of relief slips from Steve's lips and about half the tension falls from his shoulders. He leans into for couple more quick kisses and presses his hand to small of Bucky's back, drawing him closer. 

"Oh... I _missed_ that," Steve murmurs. 

"It's been too long," Bucky agrees. They're not even kissing anymore, but their lips touch when they talk and Bucky can't help himself, he leans in to press his lips to the corner of Steve's mouth when it curls into a grin. 

And yeah, that's it, that's the smile Steve's always had for Bucky, easy and bright, and sometimes Bucky feels like he doesn't even have to do anything to coax it out of Steve. He doesn't have to touch Steve or smile first, all he has to do is glance at Steve, and there's that ridiculous Steven Grant Rogers smile, only for Bucky that quick and genuine smile. Bucky closes his eyes and nuzzles into Steve's beard, into the warm, familiar scent of his body, and then draws away. 

Steve's hand lingers at the small of Bucky's back for a moment longer, then disappears when Steve starts to unpack their take-out. He puts the miso soup into bowls for the two of them, but leaves the sushi in the containers and grabs chopsticks before he and Bucky walk out to the living room. 

"I worked way too many hours today to watch tv that expects me to think," Bucky says when Steve groans at the television. "Anyway, you love my shitty taste in television." 

"God help me, I do." Steve groans again, but he hits play on the next episode of the show Bucky has queued up. He pulls off his jacket and his shoes, settles onto the sofa, and eats quietly for about ten minutes before he looks at Bucky. "You went out into the field today." 

There's no point evading what wasn't even a question, so Bucky nods. "Right. Wilson went out with Romanoff to New York, so I ran point for one of the strike teams. They needed a sniper, and I guess I was the only one around they could get immediate clearance for." 

"No, you were the _best_ one around." Steve gives Bucky a pointed look and emphasizes it with the end of his chopsticks. 

Deferring his reply, Bucky reaches for some of the vegetable roll and the shrimp tempura, and, on second thought, grabs more avocado roll, too. Steve really did get all his favorites and that, more than his concern about Bucky going back on duty, fills Bucky's chest all over again. 

"You are, though, Buck. You're still the best SHIELD has." Steve nudges his sock-covered toes against Bucky's bare foot. "It doesn't mean you have to go on active duty full time again, but... you really are the best. You're probably better now, actually." 

Bucky chews thoughtfully for a few minutes. His left shoulder aches in that satisfying, sore way that only comes after being on duty for a good few hours. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss that feeling, but he'd also be lying if he said he wanted to talk about work with Steve tonight. "Yeah, well, your on-again, off-again put together a pretty good prosthetic for me." 

"Off-again," Steve says. "We're off-again."

"Yeah? Kind of guessed, based on that kiss." Something flutters inside Bucky, something that's as familiar and warm as the scent of Steve's skin, as the feel of his mouth. 

"I think it's for good this time, though." Steve looks down at his dinner and the tension in his shoulders ratchets up again, leaving him looking sad and exhausted. He wears himself down like this: takes on too many missions as a field operative, pushes back the grief and pain some of those rougher missions impart, pushes back all the other emotions he shouldn't have to. 

Bucky gives a sigh and puts his own dish aside. "Look," he says, and rests a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Tony's a good guy, and you're--" 

_\-- the best guy, the best I've ever known, the kindest and strongest --_

"A mess? Too impulsive? Emotionally unavailable?" Steve guesses and Bucky can hear his and Tony's last argument in those words. Words they both probably used on each other. "Or maybe just completely unavailable?"

"Well, two of out three, maybe..." Bucky rubs Steve's shoulder and keeps on rubbing it, then shifts his hand to the back of Steve's neck when Steve starts to relax a little bit again. "But you've always been an emotional, impulsive mess." 

Steve's laugh is short and sharp, and he takes a long drink from his beer before he turns to Bucky. "Well, you'd know." 

"Ain't that the damn truth." Bucky slides his hand below the collar of Steve's tee shirt to rub his neck, gentle but firm, for a few more seconds, then just eases himself closer to Steve on the sofa. "Better than anyone." 

Steve gives another little laugh and settles in against the sofa cushions. He finishes his dinner, steals food from Bucky's plate, and, predictably, gets halfway through a second beer before he starts looking too sleepy and content to finish it. 

"Maybe you guys are better off as friends," Bucky finally says. If Steve really wants advice, he'll get around to asking for it at some point, but Bucky can't stand the guilt and blame Steve puts himself through. 

"Maybe..." Steve nudges his foot against Bucky's again, his toes curling against Bucky. "We're friends." 

"Yeah, we are. Though, sometimes..." Bucky shrugs. "Sometimes more than that." 

Sometimes, Bucky thinks, he knows Steve better than he knows himself. He knows the bright, buring drive inside Steve to try and save the world around him, knows the shield he holds around himself born of the grief of losing too many people in his life, knows that Steve cares too much about too many things and that he could take some time to care a little bit more about himself. 

He also knows all the dips of Steve's spine, remembers the sounds Steve made the first time he kissed his shoulders, can still feel the sharp gasp of Steve's breath against his own mouth after the first time they kissed. They were sixteen and stupid and they promised to always be this to each other: best friends, stolen kisses, fumbling affection and tacit devotion. 

Sometime during Bucky's years in the college and Steve's at the SHIELD academy, Bucky's pretty sure they crossed the line from friends to friends with benefits and then to something more, but whatever they are now remains unspoken. They've both been in relationships through their twenties, and Steve and Tony have been trying to make things work for fuck knows how long now. 

If there's an ache inside Steve, a small, barely there ache that he doesn't notice until he forces himself to think about the weeks and months between kisses and touches and nights spent with the two of them tangled together, an ache that matches the one in Bucky, then he's kept it good and close to his chest. 

Bucky pauses the tv show when the credits roll, puts his second empty beer bottle next to the first, and turns to Steve. "You really called me when you were out in the field. On my desk line. You got that saved on your work phone?" 

"I really wanted sushi?" Steve say, then drops his head against the back of the couch. "I really wanted someone to come home to tonight. I memorized your work number," he adds.

"You don't have to call or bring dinner over for that, Steve." 

Bucky reaches over to stroke Steve's hair, to run his fingers through the strands that are long enough to start curling behind his ear, and smiles when Steve leans into the touch. He strokes Steve's beard, too, and when Steve turns into that touch, Bucky rubs the pad of his thumb over his jaw, then this cheek. 

"You like the beard?" 

"Yeah..." Bucky returns the slow, lazy smile Steve gives him. "Hey..." 

"Hey, you..." Steve brushes a quick, warm kiss against Bucky's thumb. "You really do look tired tonight..." 

"God, Rogers, you sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself." Bucky can't help the low laugh that rumbles out of his chest, though, and curls his palm around Steve's neck to tug him closer. 

"Oh, I'll make you feel good..." Steve's tongue touches his bottom lip, but he doesn't lean in closer, not just yet. Instead, he lets Bucky play with the hair at the nape of his neck and sighs when Bucky finds that spot right at the edge of his scalp. Then, he sighs low and deep, and leans in to kiss Bucky. "I'll make you feel so good, Buck..." 

Five, maybe six weeks have passed since the last time they fucked, but kissing Steve is the most intimate, the most wonderful sensation. That first kiss, when it's been so many weeks like this, always feels like coming home after the longest, hardest day at work, and Bucky lets himself sink right into it. Warmth unfurls through his chest and he buries his fingers in Steve's hair, pulling him closer until he can feel Steve sigh right into the kiss. 

"Whenever I don't touch you for this long, I miss you so much... So _much_ ," he repeats, his lips moving over Bucky's. "The way you taste, the way your body feels against mine..." 

There's so much longing in Steve's voice, hopeful quiet longing, that if Bucky thought he'd able to push his feelings and his own well-kept longing aside, then he was an idiot for thinking so. He strokes his fingers through Steve's hair again and lets himself be pulled into another kiss, long and desperate and needy. 

When Steve ends the kiss, he doesn't move away from Bucky, but brushes his mouth over Bucky's bottom lip with these ridiculously soft, ticklish little kisses. 

"I wonder how hard I can get you before I fuck you... before I even touch you." Another tiny kiss, and then Steve catches Bucky's bottom lip between his teeth and worries it, just gently, until he moves away with a fond sound. "I know you like when I do that." 

"God, _Steven_..." Bucky can't help the way his body arches closer to Steve or the way his mouth seeks out something more than these tiny, feathery kisses that Steve keeps brushing over his lips. 

"I said I was going to make you feel good," Steve says. His lips touch the edge of Bucky's jawline and he murmurs kisses until he reaches Bucky's ear, where he nuzzles really soft and affectionate. 

Bucky tips his head the side and he knows he can let himself have this, that he can have Steve and he can have these moments between them, that he can laugh when Steve kisses his neck and strokes his chest, that he can arch into the faintest touch of Steve's hand over his cock. He can have these things, and he can have his moments with Steve, stored up safe in his heart for all those long moments, those days and weeks and months, when he doesn't have Steve to himself. 

When he draws away from Bucky, kiss-flushed and breathless, Bucky can't help but touch his hand to Steve's face, trace the line of his jaw, run his thumb down the slightly crooked angle of his nose. 

The smile that appears on Steve's face reminds Bucky so much of Steve at sixteen, his hair shot through with gold and his eyes blue and bright with desire, that Bucky leans up close and kisses him again. 

And _again_. He had Steve first, he kissed him first and with breathless urgency, he remembers the taste of Steve's mouth and the hesitant affection of Steve's hand at his waist. He remembers summer nights out on the fire escape when it was too hot to sleep in the city and the cold, grey winter Sunday mornings in his college dorm room. 

Bucky remembers this, too: countless missions as Steve's partner and the swift, silent protection he gave to ensure that Steve walked away from each one of those missions. He remembers the pain in his left arm, then the numbness, and the way Steve sat by his hospital bed for hours on end, watching television and holding Bucky's right hand. How they'd kissed there, too, just once, and how the relief that came with that kiss had brought tears to Bucky's eyes more than any of the pain in his injured arm had. 

So, when Steve walks them from the living room to the bedroom, and when Steve unbuttons Bucky's shirt and slips it off, then leans in to press a line of kisses from his shoulder to where the prosthetic starts beneath his bicep, Bucky can't keep the longing out of his voice, or the way arousal and need rough it up. 

"I miss you, too, Steve," Bucky murmurs. "I miss working with you, and I miss being with you, and I miss seeing that stupid way you throw yourself into danger every damn time, and I miss _us_ \--" 

"You don't have to," Steve says against the point of Bucky's shoulder and moves his mouth over the curve until he can kiss Bucky's arm again. "You don't have to miss me anymore... or ever again." 

"Steve," Bucky says again, but this time his voice breaks. 

"I’ve got you, Buck..." Steve presses his lips, soft and warm, to the inside of Bucky's arm, right at the crook of his elbow, right at the seam of the prosthetic. "I'm not leaving you again." 

"You never-- _oh_ , Stevie, you _never_ \--" Bucky can't even finish the sentence. He can't. Not with Steve this close, not with Steve's lips murmuring affection and promises into the crook of his arm. 

Instead, Bucky lets Steve urge him to the bed and basks in all the little touches Steve gives him as they undress and as Steve helps him with the protesthic. The flitting touches to his shoulders and chest, the dip of Steve's fingertips into the angle of his hips, the perfect way Steve's hands settle at his waist. His own hand finds Steve's chest and maps out the pattern of bruises over his skin, finds the small spaces where Steve craves affection; he leans in close and then closer to touch his lips to the ridge of Steve's collarbone and waits for the pleading sigh. 

"I just want to keep touching you so bad, Buck." 

"You have all--" _Night_ , Bucky starts, but the word sticks in his throat, and he chokes out something else, something he can't stop himself from saying after all the gentle fingertip touches and kiss-damp tenderness. "--all the time, ever, it's all yours now, Steve." 

Then, as if they haven't been all over each all evening as if they're aren't both desperate and hard, Steve cups both hands around Bucky's face in the most gentle, most careful manner. He brushes his thumbs over Bucky's face and smiles this tiny, fragile smile, and leans in to press his lips to Bucky's. 

Bucky's chest tightens, threatens to burst from how the ache that had settled there so many years ago dissolves, how the emptiness is replaced by the newness between him and Steve. 

He returns the kiss once, his arm going around Steve's waist, then kisses Steve again and fits his body right against Steve's, so that there is nothing between them but the shared warmth and arousal, and the breath-space between their lips. 

Steve kisses down the length of Bucky's body when they get in bed, leans in to kiss the flat of his stomach and the inside of his thigh as he slicks Bucky up. It's like he can't be close enough, can't touch Bucky enough, can't believe he has the chance to touch him and not stop touching him. Wonder lights his eyes and Steve ducks his head, suddenly shy, when Bucky smiles to watch him roll the condom on. 

"C'mon, beautiful," Bucky says to make Steve blush, and feels himself get harder at the way desire flushes over Steve's neck and chest. 

Steve's got him slick and ready, and Bucky still gives a stuttery, breathless 'oh' when Steve presses inside him, lets himself fall into the dizzy rush of finally feeling full, of knowing that now Steve is his, was always his. They're both still for a second, connected, the air around them tense, stretched out along the sound of their breathing and the heat of desire, and then Steve pulls out, just enough that when he presses back in, all Bucky knows is Steve.

* * *

"Stay," Bucky says against Steve's neck. His mind is blurred with pleasure and the feel of Steve's body all along the length of his.

"You know I will..." Steve shifts so that Bucky can curl up against his chest and nuzzles his face into Bucky's hair. "The whole night." 

"And the morning, and the next day... And every day." Bucky doesn't ask, doesn't give Steve a second to give into any of his uncertainty. 

"And every day," Steve replies. His voice drops low, sweet, and _pleased_ , so incredibly pleased, and he wraps his arms around Bucky. "I can do that. I can promise that." 

"Me, too." Nestling in closer, Bucky listens to the steady, reassuring beat of Steve's heart and relaxes into the matching rhythm of their breathing. When he strokes his fingers down Steve's ribcage to his hip, Steve sighs, sleepy and pleased, and kisses Bucky's hair again. "We should talk about work over breakfast." 

"After breakfast," Steve says. "I can think of a dozen better things to talk about over coffee." 

The night table light spills a pool of hazy gold over the rumpled sheets and blankets, over their bodies as they slip closer to sleep. Bucky holds onto the moment as long as he can, half-asleep and content, his fingers tracing aimless patterns over Steve's skin.


End file.
